Cordy the Vampier Slayer
by Harriet Vane
Summary: Some not very clever Vamps put two and two together to get three


Disclaimer: I didn't come up with the characters, only the plot. Need I say more?

  
  
  
  


Prolog:

Angel found a bottle of rum that Captain Cook had given to him after his three month tour on the pirate's ship. Vampire made especially good pirates, Angel had explained to Cordy and Doyle as they looked at him with a note of concern in their expressions. Cook had given it in excellent will, and instructed Angel to drink it when he had a reason to celebrate. Doyle had said that finding the bottle was reason enough to celebrate, Cordy had hit his arm with the magazine she had been reading. Angel put the rum in the weapons closet, and locked the door.

Three day's later he destroyed the Ring of Amara. The first thing he did, after he watched the sunset with his friend, was go into his basement, unlock the weapons closet, and open the rum. 

Cordy had one glass and was absolutely smashed. She fell asleep in her chair and Angel carried her to his bed. 

Three drinks later, he was looking at her sleep over Doyle's shoulder. An question slipped into his mind that he had, until this point, been far too sober to ask. "What the hell do you see in her?" Angel asked, his voice only slightly slurred.

"What?" Doyle asked, his voice equally slurred.

"Cordelia," Angel said, "I mean, she's beautiful, I get that. But, and I've known plenty of women . . ."

"In what way known?"

"In every way known can be known." Angel said, chuckling, "But Cordelia, she's so . . . Cordelia! Vain and shallow and petty and . . ."

"Come-on," Doyle laughed, "You're kiddin' right? She's nothin' like that."

"Are we talking about the same girl?"

"I'll admit, she's a little self centered at times, but so is everybody, she's just chooses not to hide it, which is brave, I think. You have to admit, she can be the sweetest person in the world every now and then."

"Yeah," Angel said, "She can"

"And she's so strong," Doyle said wistfully, "I'd give anything for that strength of character."

Angel started laughing again, "Strength of character?"

"Yeah," Doyle said, his voice and eyes filled with wonder, that Angel knew was just as strong when he was sober. "She learned about demons and vampires and what not when she fifteen," Doyle laughed at how ludicrous the whole idea was, "What were you doin' when you were fifteen? I was playin' pickup game's of foot ball behind the school. My biggest fear was that Andy O'Conner would Tell Margaret Shay that I thought she had nice legs, which he did by the way."

"I was afraid I'd fall off my horse," Angel admitted, too drunk to realize that stories about his human life made him sad. 

"Her after school activity was savin' the world," Doyle's smile slipped just a little, "That must have been a horrible burden to bear."

Angel blinked, and took a shaky breath, his pyridine had just shifted. "I guess I knew that," he said slowly. "I mean I knew that the whole demon fighting, vampire slaying thing was too much for a teen aged girl to handle, but for some reason I always kinda assumed that it applied to just Buffy."

"Well, yeah, sure," Doyle said, poring himself some more rum. "I'm not sayin' Buffy didn't have it hard too, adjustin' and all. But she was a part of it, and it was a part of her. It's a lot easier, and a lot less frightening I might add, too look something supernatural in the face when you've got a little bit of the supernatural inside a you. Believe me, I speak from experience."

Angel understood, when he really learned about how tangent the evil forces in the world were he was a part of them, there was no shock, but he remembered watching Buffy learn that, and the way she couldn't accept it until she discovered how well she could fight it. Cordelia couldn't fight it beyond sitting in a dimly lit library and reading moldy books filed with accent cryptic prophecies. And that's exactly what she had done. That's exactly what everyone who knew about the other world, Willow, Xander, even Oz, had done. And he knew, even though he had not been there to see, that when Buffy disappeared for a summer, the four of them had become militant and fought the vampires, ineffectively, but with a passion.

"Can you blame her," Doyle continued, "if she escaped into the vacuous world of fashion and money. If I'd a had that option when I learned about all this I would have taken it. As it was," Doyle muttered, lying his head on the table, facing an almost empty bottle, "All I had was the rum."

"Altogether," Angel mused drunkenly, "Not that bad."

The Irish man chuckled, "Not'a'all."

  
  


Cordy the Vampire Slayer

The Cordelia stepped out of the cab and suddenly felt her skin erupt into goose bumps. She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her and wished she had taken another sip of rum to keep her warm. Then, when she bowed her head to rummage for her keys lost in the bottom of her bag, she was very glad she hadn't. 

A half an hour ago Angel had gently shaken her awake and informed her that there was a cab waiting to take her home. Doyle offered to go with her, but she saw how blood shot his eyes were, and how he was three shades paler than normal, and graciously declined. She opened the door to her building and walked in without a thought to her personal security. Not that she wasn't in a bad part of town, because she was, but because it was familiar, and for some reason she assumed that meant she was safe. She stumbled up the stairs, still a little tipsy, and extremely tiered. Angel had been gracious enough to let her have tomorrow off, and Cordy was looking forward to sleeping through it.

"Slayer," A gravely, sing-songy voice said.

Cordy looked up and saw a dark figure standing at the landing above her. For a second she wondered if Buffy was around, and the figure was talking to her, but then her brain caught up to her situation and she realized that 99.9 percent of the dark figures in the world didn't think about a California college freshman with a set jaw and murderous glare. On the other hand, maybe some of them did.

Cordy shook her head gently, so not to inflame the hang over, and continued to walk up the stairs ignoring the dark figure. When she was on the landing she kept to the left, while he leaned against the right wall. Her head was down and her body was ridged. 

"Didn't you hear me!" the dark figure said, taking a step out of the shadows. Cordy continued to walk up the stairs and sourly wished she had taken Doyle up on his offer. He had this thing about protecting her from, well, pretty much anything. And as much as she was a self actualized woman who did not need men or need a mans support or protection, she couldn't deny it felt good. At least she couldn't deny it to herself, she had no problem deigning it in public. 

"Are you going to ignore me?" the dark man demanded as he started up the stairs. Cordy answered by quickening her pace. That was it, next time Doyle offered to do her a favor, she'd take it. 

"What the hell do you think you are!" The dark man said following her up the stairs. "You gonna just let me be?"

"I hate crack heads," Cordy muttered under her breath right before she gasped for it.

Another person, this time a scantily clad girl, jumped out of the landing in front of her. But Cordelia could tell, just by looking at her, that the girl, and undoubtably the boy too, were both members of a group she hated more than crack heads: Vampires.

"I thought that vampire slayers were supposed to, you know, slay vampires," The guy vampire said from behind her. Cordy's heart was racing, she knew that the vampires could smell her fear, and she wanted to be brave, but she was not the slayer and she had the sinking feeling that soon she would be dead.

"I don't," she gasped as she turned from one vampire to the other, "I don't know what you're talking about, please don't hurt me."

"Fat chance," the guy said, grabbing her arm, Cordelia quickly stuck her hand inside her bag.

"Than I guess I'll have to hurt you!" she said, pulling out a long wooden cross that she kept for emergencies. She pressed it against his face. He let go of her as he stumbled down the stairs. She swung the cross towards the girl vampire who backed away instinctively, cautiously she backed up the stairs, eyeing the two vampires nervously, once she was around the bend in the stairs she turned and ran. She could hear them following her as she burst through the door that led to the second floor and she cursed herself for getting the apartment at the end of the hall. She almost over shot her apartment, and as a result hit her door with the force of her body, knocking the breath out of her lungs. 

"Keys keys keys keys keys," she chanted as she grabbed at her key ring trying to find the right key. She made the mistake of turning her head to see what was behind her. Eight vampires approached with a cocky confidence, all of them looked like they were her age and were dressed totally goth, which made sense for vampires. 

"We scared the slayer," one of the female vampires who Cordy hadn't seen before said. "Cool."

Cordy plunged the key into the lock and jiggled it nervously. The vampires were frighteningly close. Hot tears of fear and frustration started burring in her eyes. "Open," she prayed, and as if the Powers That Be recognized the sincerity of her plea, and realized that they had a plan for this vacuous L.A. princess, it did.

Cordelia stumbled into her apartment, tripping over yesterday's dishes. She was two frightened to notice how much her ankle hurt.

"Damn, we can't reach her," The boy vamp that hadn't been on the landing said.

"Where's the fight?" One of the girls asked Cordelia.

The young actress didn't answer. Instead she crawled to the phone and dialed a number she didn't know she had memorized until that moment. 

The phone rang three times before it was finally answered and she heard a moan that vaguely sounded like 'What?'

"Angel," Cordy sobbed, "Help."

***

Doyle woke up after only two hours of sleep by the incessant ringing of the phone. He glanced at the clock, five thirty. He rolled over and closed his eyes. The stupid tela-marketer would give up. After fifteen minuets of straight ringing Doyle started to think that maybe it wouldn't. He rolled out of his bed and crawled over to the phone, "'ello?"

"Doyle!" Cordy's voice screeched. "Thank god you answered."

"Cordy?" Doyle groaned, stumbling to his feet. "What's the matter? Do you know what time it is?"

"I know that I called Angel two hours ago and he's not here yet."

"Called Angel?" Doyle muttered. "Cordy what happened?"

"Vampires," she gasped. "Outside my apartment, waiting for me."

"Vampires."

"I think they thought I was the slayer," her voice was trembling. "They wanted to kill me."

"I'll be right over."

"That's what Angel said."

"I will."

"Ok," She said.

"Hold tight," Doyle said, before hanging up the phone, grabbing his coat, and running out the door.

His stomach turned as he joined all the early morning commuters. He stood out among the crisp business people with his rumpled clothing and rummy breath. 

He got off at Cordy's stop and walked through the station with blind and deaf determination. He didn't hear the pail blond in black leather yelling at him. "Watcher!" she screamed, obviously at Doyle. People were looking at her but he didn't notice, he was too hung over and too worried to listen to some teen rage.

"Hey watcher, I know you see me!" She screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran up to Doyle and grabbed his arm. Before he could shake her of she swung him around to face her with more force than any natural girl could have had.

"What in hell?" Doyle asked the girl.

"Kay," The girl said, her black lips curving into a smile. "Now were ready to play you English bastard."

"English?" Doyle said, trying to push himself away. "You've got me wrong," He tried to pull his arm away from her but she didn't let go.

"We killed one of your friends," she hissed. "And we read all about you."

"My friends?"

"The watchers,"

"Hold on," Doyle said jerking his arm away from the young girl. For the first time he was starting to realize that she was not a girl, at least not anymore. "You killed a watcher, from England?"

"That's right," She said, smiling wickedly. "The thing is, we want the slayer."

"You're talkin' to the wrong guy," Doyle chuckled, "I don't know the slayer. She lives in Sunnydale."

"Bullshit!" the girl screeched. "The stat's in the dead watcher's brief case said that vampire slayings has risen twenty-five percent in the last four months. You're telling me that's not the work of a slayer?"

Doyle chuckled, "Well, actually . . ."

"Plus her little lover vamp moved here so that they could play _Remington Steel_."

"Remington Steel?" Doyle asked. He was familiar with the television show but had no idea what it had to do with Buffy and Angel. Sure, he was an investigator, but the slayer wasn't his secretary, Cordelia was. Suddenly, it clicked.

"I mean it's not the game I would play with him, but I can see the appeal."

"Look," Doyle said, nervously. "You made a mistake, the person you think is the slayer really isn't."

"Then what the hell is she?"

"She's an actress."

"Act's real good, acts like she knows how to kill a vampire, acts like she knows where vampires can't go. My friends got a sweltering cross shaped scar on the side of his face. I can't even look at him any more, it creeps me out!"

"Look, I'm sorry about your friend but . . ."

"No buts, if the bitch of a slayer wants to get her boy-toy back she's gonna have to meet us at midnight under I-38 on Hollywood. You know where that is?"

"You're tellin' me you have Angel?"

"You know where that is?"

"Do you have Angel?"

"Just answer the god damn question!"

"Answer mine!"

"God, yes, we have Angel!"

"You're not gonna hurt him."

"If you don't show he'll be dusted." She laughed, "Hell, if you do show he'll be dusted, but first he'll get to watch the slayer die."

"We'll be there," Doyle said, his voice raw. 

"Good," the female vampire said, letting go of Doyle's arm. "I can't wait." She took a step forward and straightened the young half-demon's collar. "Dress to die," she told him, before she pushed him away with unnatural strength, forcing him to stumble backwards. She smiled an evil smile at him and, giggling, turned around and skipped away into the darkness.

Doyle stood stunned for a moment before her realized that, to save Angels life, he had 18 hours to create a slayer.

***

There was a knock at the door. Cordy sat up with a start. She didn't remember falling asleep on her couch, but one glance at her clock told her it had been an hour since she had called Doyle, and she didn't remember a miniate of it. She yawned and wiped the drool from the edge of her mouth. 

"Cordelia!" she could hear Doyle yell through the door. "Cordy, you alright?"

"Fine!" she yelled back. Her head hurt from the night before, and as she stood up her ankle exploded into pain. A shriek escaped from her before she could think and as a result the pounding on the door got harder and louder. "Cordy!" Doyle practically screamed. 

"I'm fine," she gasped. "Hold on."

Cor limped to the door, gasping for breath every time she put wight on her right ankle. When she opened the door she was in a bad mood, and it showed in her voice. "What took you so long?" She demanded.

Doyle didn't wait to be asked in. "I ran into a vampire, that's what," he said as he walked past her into the room. Cordy quickly shut the door, in case any dark thing out there decided an open door was an invitation, then she turned on her left foot and leaned against the door. Doyle continued on, and didn't notice at all. He was moving, a lot. Cordelia, student of the human condition, knew Doyle, and she knew he was the kind of person who was very still when he knew something, when he understood something, when he was in control. The only time he really moved was when he was nervous, or frightened, or uncertain. His pacing and the way he played with the ring on his hand were not good things. "You know what they did. They killed a watcher, and you know what this particular watcher had in his possession. Statistics!"

"Statistics?" Cor asked, "Like number stuff?"

"Exactly," Doyle said turning on her. He opened his mouth to continue on his rant but his face dropped and he took a slow step forward, pointing to her. "You're hurt."

"What?" she laughed, offering him a Hollywood grin.

"You foot," he said softly, taking a step closer. "The ankle's all swollen."

"I tripped," she explained as she pushed herself away from the wall. "You want some coffee?"

"I could make it," Doyle said as he moved towards the kitchen. "Don't move."

"I'm fine," she said flippantly as she took a step towards the kitchen. Her face exploded in pain, and she stumbled back towards the wall. "Or," she gasped, "maybe you should make it."

Doyle walked over to her and helped her limp to her couch. Cordy wanted to protest but she was tiered and frightened and in pain and hung over, in short, above pride. "Thanks," she said softly as he lowered her onto the couch.

"I'll get some Ice for that too," Doyle said as he walked into her kitchen and started bumbling around. 

After a few random bangs and a damn Cor found the courage to lean forward and look towards her kitchen. "You ok?" She asked, terrified that she would have to get up and walk the three yards on her bad ankle.

"Fine," Doyle said tersely as he walked out of the kitchen. He had a Ziplock bag filled with ice, which he gave to her. "Coffee's on the boil."

"On the boil?" Cordy said looking at him skeptically. She pulled her ankle towards her and applied the ice, wincing slightly when the cold first touched her skin.

"Yeah," he said simply as he sat down next to her, "Ya haven't heard from Angel by any chance have ya?"

"No," she said. "This isn't like him."

"No, it isn't." Doyle said soberly.

"I mean, what does he think he's doing," Cordy demanded, more annoyed than she was worried. "I thought his entire, like, purpose in life was to rescue damsels in distress and fight the forces of evil. And right now, he's getting a big F in both those subjects." 

"He was captured by the vampires."

"Which vampires?" Cordy asked, nervously, "The ones that tried to kill me?"

"That's right," Doyle said, looking at her with sad eyes. "They think you're the slayer."

"Why?"

Doyle sighed, "Remember I told you they killed a watcher."

"A watcher with stats."

"Those stats happened to tell our vampiric friends that slaying is up twenty-percent, which speaks very highly of our friend Angel's efforts."

"But bodes ill for the common vamp."

"Right," Doyle said. "From what I can tell, they think he came to town followin' you."

"Huh?"

Doyle inhaled deeply, "Do you remember the show _Remington Steel_?"

"Yeah, it was on before _Moonlighting_ on Thursdays, James Bond was the main guy."

"James Bond?"

Cor shook her head, "Pierce Brosnon."

"The _point_ is they think you're the slayer and he set up the whole detective thing so that you could help people."

"But that's not what happened . . . at all."

"You know that, Darlin', and I know that, but these vampires put one and one together and came up with three. They think you're the slayer, and . . . to save Angel, you're gonna have to be."

"No," Cordelia said emphatically. 

"But Cordy," Doyle said, "You have to. This is Angel we're talking about here."

"I know," She said, pushing her hair behind her ears and looking at the ground. "And that's my point. Angel had been around for like, two hundred years, and is way up on vampire killing techniques, apposed to me who is, admittedly, an amateur. If he can't fight them off, nobody can."

"He can't fight them off," Doyle asserted. "I'm sure he tried last night."

Cordy looked up with big brown eyes, filled to the brim with fear. "I can't."

"I'll be there to help you."

She glanced up at him and snorted, degradingly. "It's not even like you know what a slayer is."

"I don't need to." Doyle said, "You do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"No ones asking you to _be_ the slayer," 

"Really?" Cordy squeaked, "Cause that's how its coming off."

"You're an actress," Doyle reminded her, "Act like a slayer."

"Act? Like Buffy?"

"You know any other slayers?" Doyle asked sarcastically.

"Two," Cordy said flatly. "But one's evil and the other's dead."

"Well, then," Doyle stuttered nervously. He couldn't quite figure out how there had been more than one slayer, not to mention more than two. But he didn't have time to get into it, he made a mental note to ask Angel, after Cordelia single-handedly saved him. "Bu-Buffy it is then."

"Why can't we just call Buffy?" Cordy asked. "I mean, it's not like she's half a world away. An hour's train ride and she's here."

"One little problem with that princess, they'd kill Angel as soon as they saw her."

"They want to fight the slayer . . ."

"They think you're the slayer. If someone who's not you comes, our man Angel's dead."

"Well," she said grasping at straws. "What if we just politely explain that I'm not the slayer and point them in Buffy's direction."

Doyle looked at her worriedly, "You'd send a pack of murderous vampires after one of your friends?"

"Well," Cor said, looking away with guilt. "It's not like I'm sending them after a normal friend. She's the slayer! Plus it's for Angel, and I know she'd fight them to save him."

"It still wouldn't work," Doyle said, shaking his head. 

"Why not, it's the slayer they want!"

"They would think you were lying, they would kill him."

"We don't know that," Cor argued. "I mean, he's the only bargaining piece they have. They couldn't afford to kill him."

"And what do they want that bargaining piece for? So you'd come and fight them. When they find out that our man Angel don't have that much of a draw he's no good to them."

"Maybe they'll let him go," Cordy said hopefully. 

Doyle sent her a sceptic glance and, with a sigh, she release all her wishful thinking. "I can't fight," she said, glancing at her ankle, which was the size of a grape fruit and the color of a strawberry.

"Maybe you won't have to."

"Maybe I will."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," Doyle asserted crossly. Cordelia winced at his sharp statement, and Doyle saw it. He licked his lips nervously, "Look Cordelia," he said, softly and kindly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that . . . I'm frightened."

"Me too," she told him timidly, as she took a deep breath and drew her other leg up so she was siting in a fetal position. She took a deep breath and turned to him with a vigor produced by sheer will power. "What do we do first?" 

Doyle almost smiled because of her willingness, but things were just a little too dire for that. He looked around the apartment, the fact was he had no idea what they should do. Watchers spent their entire lives studying in the hopes that they might one day train a slayer. All he had done was listen to a couple of vague stories about the slayer. He didn't quite feel up to the challenge. 

"Why don't you start by tellin' me things." he said, hoping he would get some ideas from the stories.

"What kinda things?"

"Things about the slayer, about her watcher, anything."

"Well," Cordy said looking at the ceiling. "Buffy's wardrobe was pretty good, considering, but Giles never quite picked up on the fact that it's warm in southern California." She turned to look at him, "Kinda like you."

"I need somethin' a little more pressing than wardrobes, here," Doyle said. "Something about how she trained for example."

"Oh, right. Well," Cor said, closing her eyes and resting her chin on her knees so she could relive her teen hood. "Giles was always telling her to train, always. She's come back from fighting some horrible demon and he would say, 'don't forget, we train tomorrow."

"What kind of training?"

"I don't know, throwing stakes and stuff, I guess. She probably had to learn how to use all those old weapons Giles kept locked up in the library."

"Old weapons?"

"Yeah it's a miracle that no one ever wandered into the library and saw the librarian attacking Buffy with a battle ax while me, Xander and Willow were reading about ancient sacrificial rights."

Doyle blinked, trying to make sense of the mental picture she had presented him.

"On second thought," Cordy mused, opening her eyes. "Considering the average IQ of the Sunnydale it's really not."

"You know," Doyle said softly, "We need weapons."

"Ya'think?" Cordy quipped.

Doyle glared at her, annoyed, but he took a sharp breath and shook it off. "We gotta get to work, princess. Grab your coat, we're goin' to Angel's."

***

"I thought you said we were going to Angel's."

"We are," Doyle said, keeping his eyes fixed on the world outside the bus' window. "But we got some stuff to do first."

"What kinda stuff," Cordy asked nervously. "'Cause if walking's involved . . ."

"As little as possible."

"What are we doing anyhow?"

"Settin' the stage Darlin'," Doyle said as he reached up and pulled the cord, causing the bus to stop at the next exit. "Come on," Doyle said, reaching down to her. She took his hand and leaned on him heavily as they walked down Broadway. Cordy hated this part of town. It was dirty and cheap and just being there made Cordelia feel the same way. Doyle, however, seemed very much at home.

"Did we have to come?" Cordelia whispered into Doyle's ear they walked down the street. She was so preoccupied with their surroundings that she did not notice the smile that flickered across his face when her breath tickled his ears.

"It depends of your meaning of 'have to'." Doyle said under his breath before yelling, "SPICE!"

"What do you mean," Cordelia asked slowly, weighing every word.

A woman who could be no younger than forty, but dressed as if she were twenty-five and it was nineteen eighty seven, turned her head and suddenly smiled. "DOYLE!" She yelled back before she ran up to him and assaulted him with a tremendous bear hug, pressing her size D chest against the Irish man's body. She was at least twice Doyle's size and smelled like cigarette smoke. Cordy staggered backwards, afraid that the woman would envelop her next.

"God Doyle, It's been months!" The woman said once she released him from her iron grip. "I've missed you."

"How you been?" Doyle said, smiling at the disgusting woman. "How's business?"

"I hate men," the woman said candidly. "No offence Doyle, but you all deserve to go to hell."

Doyle nodded, "I agree with ya. We're scum."

"I love you," she said, slapping Doyle on the back with such force that he had to take a step forward to catch his balance. "The world does not shit you, or you don't shit the world. I'm not sure which, but hey, you see things that no one else does."

"Well, that's true," Cordy muttered to herself, looking away from the conversation.

"What's this bird?" Spice asked, pointing to Cordelia.

"Ah," Doyle said, stepping back, "Spice, Let me introduce Cordelia Chase, she's an actress."

"Pleased to meet you," Cor said, acting.

"Oh, god, Doyle, no." Spice said, looking at Cordelia with as much disgust as Cordelia was looking at her with. "You're not seeing an actress."

"No he's not," Cor said, before Doyle could say anything. "We're just friends."

"The world shits her," Spice laughed to Doyle. "You could do better."

"Thanks," Cordy quipped softly as she drew back into herself, trying, and succeeding, not to look as hurt as she was. 

"So what's the word with you Doyle? Where you been?" Spice asked.

"Ahh, I've been busy," Doyle said, looking around the street he used to spend so much time on. He was surprised by how little nostalgia he felt.

"Still busy?" Spice bated.

"Sad to say I am," Doyle sighed. "And I need to ask you a favor."

"What kind of favor?" she asked cautiously. "You're already in debt."

"It's nothin', really," Panic had been triggered in his voice by the mention of the word debt. He knew any more would be very unhealthy for him. "I just need you to spread the word."

"What word?"

Doyle leaned in, "Slayer."

"You shit me!"

"I shit you not, my friend!" Doyle said flamboyantly before glancing down and scratching the nervous itch that had developed right behind his left ear. "You think you could do that?" he asked nervously, as he glanced up.

The prostitute glanced away, her eyes shifting from one thing to another somewhere in the distance. "People aren't gonna like that."

"What do you care," he said hopefully, "eh?"

"It'll cost ya," Spice finally said, turning back to the nervous half-demon. 

"How much?"

"Come back some night," she said, breaking into a smile. "I miss the company."

Doyle smiled back, "You got it."

"You know where? You know when?"

"Delainie's, at three for whisky and tea," Doyle said warmly.

"God you remember."

"It's not the sort a thing one forgets."

"Hell, this'll be fun," she laughed, "But now get out'a here, people are gonna think I'm taken, that or they'll go after your hot little actress."

"T'anks Spice," Doyle said smiling, "This means a lot."

"So did the whisky and tea, you squelch and you're a dead man."

"Don't I know it," Doyle laughed.

"Didn't I tell you to get out?"

"I'm out," Doyle said, turning around and taking Cordelia's arm. 

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Cordy called over her shoulder.

"Don't shit me you bitch of an actress!" the older woman yelled at the retreating pair.

Cordelia turned on Doyle, horrified, "Did you hear what she just said!"

Doyle was laughing, "She's the most honest person I've ever met." He looked up and saw Cordy's angry face and the hurt behind her eyes. He realized that he had just committed one of Hollywood's carnal sins, misstating an actress for the role she plays. "She says what's on her mind, and she tries to get everyone else to follow suit. You have to respect that."

"You don't have to do anything of the kind," Cordy said, saying exactly what she was thinking. "How did you meet that . . . woman anyways?"

"Spice," Doyle asked, "We're old friends."

"How old?"

"Well, aren't these the personal questions."

"She's so dirty and crass."

"She's crass?"

"Yeah."

"We meet in a bar," Doyle said, "I was pretty new in town, just startin' to make connections, you know. And I was in this little dive outside of Chinatown that is open from sundown to sunup and caters to, ah, unique clientele. It was three in the morning and I was the only one sitting at the bar and she came and ordered a cup of camomile tea and two fingers of whisky. I watched as she slammed the liquor and then sipped the tea like a lady. We got to talkin' and . . . it got to be a nightly type of thing. Well, you know, if neither of us was workin'."

"She's disgusting."

"I'm sure she'd say the same about you."

"She did."

"Yeah," Doyle said, almost wistfully. "But she liked ya, I could tell."

"Great, I have a prostitute's seal of approval."

"Means more than you think."

"Yeah, sure," Cordy said dismissively. "Why did we have to talk to her again?"

"To get the word out."

"Which word?"

"Slayer, remember."

"Oh, yeah," She said slowly. "Wait, isn't that a bad word to have out?"

"What? Why?"

"Well, for starters, the slayer isn't here."

"I know."

"So won't bringing her up, you know, make people think she is here."

"It could do that, yeah."

"And then, if people start thinking she's here, mightn't' they _mistake me for her!_"

"Nah, I know for a fact she's blond."

"May I remind you that hair color is not written in stone," Cordy said, squeezing Doyle's arm very tightly. "Not to mention that a whole pack of vamps have already made that simple mistake."

"That's the point, Princess," Doyle said, stopping so he could look her in the eyes and communicate what he was trying to say clearly. "People hear the word slayer and they get to talking, 'I ran into the slayer once, I lost three arms,' and 'the slayer killed my brother, staked him with a pool cue' People hear these stories, people get scared. When the real slayer never shows up people will think it was someone crying wolf . . ."

"Which, in all fairness, it is," Cordy interjected.

"And they won't think twice about the whole deal. We need these vampire to fear you."

"So they're on their guard and prepared?" Cordy asked sarcastically, "Great idea."

"No," Doyle's voice was frighteningly sober. "So they don't kill you the second you step into sight."

"Oh," Cordy said softly, "I guess I'm for that."

"Come on," Doyle said, taking her arm again. "We gotta get going. We have a lot to do in the next fourteen hours."

"What happens in fourteen hours?"

"Midnight."

"Oh," Cordy said again.

***

"Alright," Cordelia snapped as she walked into the kitchen, where a varied array of weapons and a yellow pad surrounded Doyle on the table. "I'm done *again*."

Doyle looked up from whatever non-physical, non-painful, exercise he had been doing. "How'd you do."

"Ty-bo gives me his seal of approval," Cordy said as she slouched in the chair across form him.

"You need anything?" Doyle asked, "Water, Power bar, pain killer?"

"Yes," Cordy said, laying her head on the table.

"To witch one?"

"All of the above."

Doyle looked at her concerned, but he didn't say anything. In a minute there was a glass of cold water sitting in front of her as well as a high energy bar and two Tylenol. Cordelia looked at it numbly.

"You sure you're alright?" Doyle asked looking at her perceptively.

"Fine," she growled.

"You stretch?"

"Yes."

"How about these weapons?"

"What about these weapons?"

"You know how to use them?'

"Yes!" she screeched as she pushed herself away from the table dramatically. "God! I'm not the slayer and you're not my watcher! So just back off!" She turned and stormed out of the kitchen, running up the stairs and slamming the door to Angel's office.

Doyle took a deep breath and looked towards the stairs. She was still limping noticeably and, despite the fact that she had just been exercising vigorously, she was very pale. Slowly he pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He grabbed Cordy's ice water and Tylenol and followed her up the stairs.

Slowly he opened the door, only to hear a soft gasp and see Cordy wiping her eyes and quickly fixing her hair. "You forgot your meds," he said kindly handing her the pills and water. "I figured you'd want 'em."

"I do," Cordy said, reaching out for the water and pills. Doyle walked over to the couch and handed them to her. In the same motion he eased himself onto the seat beside her and watched as she popped the pills into her mouth and drank the water. He noticed that her face had some color now, but only around the rims of her eyes. Cordy lowered the glass and stared at it, Doyle waited patiently and eventually was rewarded.

"Did you ever think you'd be here," Cordy asked as she turned to look at him, "Doing this?"

Doyle smiled sadly, "No," he admitted. "Not in my wildest dreams."

"Me neither," Cordelia said, hoarsely. She took another sip of water and then continued. "Growing up I had my whole life planed, no questions, no worries. I was going to go to college, marry someone form a wealthy family and live happily ever after."

"But that didn't happen?"

Cordy shook her head, "When my Dad told me that, ah, that the IRS was taking all our money I was so frightened, too frightened even to be angry. I thought 'I'm not the person I always thought I was anymore.'"

"There's a lot more to a person than income."

"Poor people think that," Cordy scoffed.

"Well now you're poor," Doyle said, not quite bitterly, "So you might as well get used to the mind set."

"I didn't . . . mean . . . that," Cordelia stuttered. "It's just, the idea that if you had last season's clothes you were worthless was embedded in me from before I can remember." Cordy smiled at the memory that she was about to share, "My first day of kindergarten I didn't have any friends because my parents had always kept me home with a nanny. So the teacher sat me next to Willow, because she didn't have any friends either. By the end of the day we were like . . . sisters." She paused, contemplating her memory. Doyle waited, trying to remember who Willow was (he was sure Angel had mentioned the girl before) and trying to figure out where this story was going. 

"My mother picked me up at the end of the day," Cordy continued. "And she saw me playing with Willow and the entire ride home I got a lecture about how to tell hand-me-downs from new clothes. The next day Willow ran up to me all giggles and happy to see me and . . . and I didn't even talk to her. I went straight for the kids with the new cloths." Cordy took a deep breath and wiped the tears she hadn't shed yet away from her eyes. "No wonder she and Xander started the 'We hate Cordelia Chase club' huh?" She asked Doyle as she forced a smile. 

"You can't be blamed for how your parents raised you," Doyle said supportively.

"I think," Cordy said slowly, "To a point, you can."

Doyle was silent.

"I mean," she continued. "If you do something really horrible, and people get hurt, saying 'I was raised that way' is a pretty sad defense. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," Doyle choked out. His mind wandering to a bracken demon named Lucas. "Guess so." There was a long pause.

"You know what I really miss," Cordy said out of the blue, turning her eyes to the cracked ceiling.

"What?"

"Not worrying, knowing that everything's gonna be alright."

"Tell me again, how many times did you fight off the apocalypse?"

"Two, wait, no, three I think."

"And your father's money made you feel safe?" Doyle asked, disbelieving.

"Well, the supernatural stuff, that was too big to worry about. I mean, yeah, for one night or so it was all there was, but you know, if we succeeded it was all good, and if we failed then we were all dead anyway, so there really wasn't really a reason to worry."

"I see," Doyle said slowly.

"It's like we lived before and after those crisis points." She turned towards him, her nose scrunched up as she pondered what she had said. "Dose that make any sense?"

"Ah," Doyle said, surprised by her insights, she didn't seem the type for them, "Yeah." There was a moment of silence, then Doyle asked, "Are you worried now?"

"Now?" she said, her eye brows raising. "Now, no, not really . . . well, maybe . . . a little . . . yes?"

"You think you can clarify that?"

"I'm terrified."

"No worries, Princess, it'll be ok."

"How?" She demanded, getting a little of her edge back. "How will it be ok?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"I've never fought before," Cordy said, Doyle could hear the terror that she had been suppressing start to push its way into her voice. "I've been bait, I've watched, I've cleaned up after, and, ok, maybe once or twice I've helped out a little, a _very_ little, but actually fighting . . . I can't do that."

"You can."

"No I can't!"

"Well you have to!"

"It's not fair!"

"You're right!" Doyle said, as angry at the situation, not at Cordelia. "It's not fair. And I'm a horrible person for expecting you to place your life on the line for a vampire, and he's a horrible person for suddenly becoming helpless and needing you."

"That's not what . . ." Cordy started, but Doyle didn't let her finish.

"You shouldn't have to be expected to change from a rich brat to a poor hero, that's too big. The Powers That Be musta made a mistake, maybe if you tell them they'll change their minds and send someone who's strong enough,"

"Stop," Cordy choked.

"Brave enough,"

"Stop."

"Good enough,"

"STOP!" Cordelia screamed.

Doyle obeyed.

"I want to, and I can!"

"Glad to hear it," Doyle said softly.

"I mean I didn't ask for this, and lord knows the Powers That Be didn't make this easy, but I'm not weak and I'm not a coward and I could do this. I _will_ do this. Because Angel is my friend, and _nobody_ messes with my friends!"

"Good,"

"Good!?"

"Yeah,"

"I'm about an inch away from killing you," Cordelia said, pronouncing each word very carefully. "And you said good."

"You're angry," Doyle said, a little bit of his excitement peeping through. "Before you were scared."

"You did all that to make me angry?"

"People who are afraid can't fight. You had to get angry or else you'd get dead."

"Problem, now I'm angry at you."

"Well you'll just have to channel that to the vampires."

"Easier said then done," she growled.

"You're strong enough," Doyle said, hitting her softly on the shoulder. "I believe in you."

"You do?" Cordy said with wonder. 

"'Course," Doyle responded without a second thought, "Come down when your ready, we got more training to do."

"Thanks," Cor said as Doyle walked to the door and back down into the bat-cave. He didn't see the way she watched him leave. Her mouth slightly open and amazement in her eyes. Doyle had no way of knowing this, but no one, ever, had told her 'I believe in you.' 

Cordy would rather have died at the hands of a vicious vampire than let him down.

***

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God," Cordelia muttered as Doyle parked Angel's dark car about a block away from the appointed meeting place.

"Ya ready?"

"I don't think so."

"Than you'd better get ready, and fast. We meet the vamps in less than ten minuets."

"Can we go over the plan again?" Cordy asked, her eyes huge and brown.

"Right," Doyle said as he inhaled deeply. "First you go in alone."

"Kay," Cordelia nodded, staring at the dash board. They had discussed the wisdom of her going in, alone, first, already. And although the many reasons which had convinced her had slipped from her mind like sand from an hour glass, she was still convinced. She didn't like it but Doyle believed in her, and for some reason that felt like enough. 

"Keep your distance, demand that they let Angel go. They want a fight, tell them they won't get one unless Angel's free. As soon as he's loose, run. I've got the cross bow, I'll hit as many of them as possible."

"Yeah,"

"With a little luck between Angel and me we'll get 'em all."

"Luck?" Cordy asked nervously, "How much luck?"

"Don't worry about it princess, just concentrate on acting confident, and be ready to defend yourself if necessary."

"Confidence and defense," Cordy breathed. "Right, got it." She took a deep breath before collapsing back into "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God."

"They're afraid of you."

"They weren't last night."

"Yes they were."

"They tried to kill me."

"They didn't though. You escaped, and you hurt one of them. I'm willing to bet that they're not used to that. They know you're dangerous, that's why they had to take Angel."

"I'm not dangerous." Cordy said, her lower lip trembling a little.

"That's not true," Doyle insisted, "Think that way and you're dead, and so is Angel, and me, come to think of it. You could either choose to be who you think you are . . ."

"Or chose to be somebody else," Cordy said sarcastically.

"Exactly," Doyle's voice, face, and entire demeanor was sober and serious. Cordy couldn't brush him off.

"I can't do that either."

"Then I guess your choosin' to die," Doyle sighed.

"Stop it!"

Doyle looked up innocently, "Stop what?"

"You've been doing this all day!" Cordy practically screamed. "Upsetting me on purpose!"

"What's your point?" 

"Do you think today was easy for me?"

"Not at all."

"Than what the hell do you mean by making me feel this way!"

"I mean to make it hard for you."

Cordy just glared at him.

"You're frightened, and I understand that."

"You don't have to be the slayer."

"That's not what frightens you," Doyle said solidly. "You're afraid because your suddenly realizing that the world isn't as solid beneath you as it once was. Bad things can happen and you don't have the money to catch you anymore. This is life Cordelia, and if you're afraid of it you die. Better sooner than later, that'll save you a lot of pain. I believe that you're more than strong enough to handle it, you've handled worse." He paused, slightly worried by the shocked look on Cordelia's face. "I guess the question really is, do you believe in yourself?" Another pause. "Well, do you?"

The young girl nodded vaguely.

"Cordelia?"

"Yeah," She said softly as she opened the car door and stepped out. 

Doyle let out a sight of relief and smiled ever so slightly, "Good luck."

Cordy turned and pushed out a smile, "I guess that means a lot, coming from an Irishman."

"What do you mean?" Doyle asked blankly. 

She sighed, "Never mind," she said as she turned and walked into the fray. For the first time all day she was walking without a limp. Doyle watched her in amazement for a moment, before remembering that her life in the next three minuets depended mostly on him. He reached down and grabbed a large cross bow before getting out of the car himself and scurrying to his hiding place.

***

As always, Cordelia's outfit was paramount. It wasn't anything Buffy would have worn, but Cordy was no Buffy, so she let it slide. It was, however, something that Kendra might have warn; cargo pants that hung at her hips, athletic shoes, and a tight shirt with flowing sleeves. Some of her hair was up in a barrette so that none of it would get in her eyes as she fought, but her neck was well covered. She was dressed to fight.

"Ok!" she yelled onto the seemingly empty street where the only other noise was the buzz from the traffic on the overpass. "I'm here. Show me Angel!"

There was a pause where nothing happened. Doyle, who had snuck around and was hiding behind an over grown fence a few long yards away, started to feel his palms sweat as he set up the cross bow.

Slowly, one of the shadows moved forward until it eventually morphed into a person, or more accurately a vampire. He was tall and muscular and dressed all in Gothic black. Cordelia recognized him from the other night, the only difference was that he had a smoldering scar in the shape of a cross on the side of his face. 

"Slayer," He said slowly. 

"Vampire," she responded simply. There was a pause as she took a deep breath. "Alright, now that we're done with the formal introductions show me Angel."

"We dusted him," the vampire said casually.

"You're lying," Cordelia said, a darkness born of anger compounded on fear slipping into her voice.

"Why would I lie?"

"I don't know," Cor said, taking a step forward. She gave the impression of a vicious she-cat moving in for the kill. Doyle didn't know if it was an act, or if it was really Cordy out there, being foolishly brave. But he knew that it frightened the vampire, he stepped backwards, away from the girl. Doyle adjusted his sights. 

"One would think that killing my friends would make me upset, very, very upset," she laughed humorlessly, "I don't know of a worse thing for a vampire to do than may a _slayer_ very, very upset." Smoothly, Cordelia reached into her pocket and pulled out a slim wooden stake that looked remarkably like one of Doyle's crossbow arrows. "So, show me Angel _now_ or become food for a handy vac. Your choice."

The vampire looked around nervously. Finally his face fell a little. "Bring him out!" he called and all of a sudden six more targets for Doyle emerged from the shadows. He looked down nervously, he only had one cross bow, and a hand full of arrows. One of the emerging vampire was dragging a bound, gaged, and bruised Angel. He was staring in Cordelia's direction with something akin to wonder in his eyes. He had heard the vampires talk about a trap for the slayer, and he had naturaly assumed Buffy. All day he had cursed himself for being so drunk and groggy that he was easily overwhelmed, causing the one woman he had loved in almost 250 years to be in mortal danger. But when he heard Cordelia's voice and not Buffy's some things became very clear, and he became very frightend. He, in his mentally inferior state, had not been able to fight off the five vamps, but he knew that Buffy would be able, as much as he knew that Cordelia would not be able to. 

"Alright," Cordy said, some of her nerviousness emerging with the vampiers. "Now let him go."

"Come a little closer and we'll talk about," the burned vamp said.

"Long distance slayage," Cordy chukeld. "I'm a big fan of it."

"What are you saying?" One of the girl vamps, with hair died purple, asked.

Cordy nodded, defiantly. The nod seemed out of place, but no one noticed because in the same motion she threw the stake towards the purple haired vamp. A second later she was impailed by an arow that, from all aperiences, came from the hands of Cordelia Chase. There was a second when she looked at it, before turning into dust and being blown away by the gust from the overpass before her remains could settle on the ground.

Cordy let out a gasp of a joyous laugh as Doyle rapidly refilled his crossbow. She quickly remembered that she was supposed to be a pro, someone who did this all the time. She cleared her throat as she straightened and fixed the burned vamp with a ferocious and slightly arrogant glare. "Oh, look, the population of the vampires on this block has decreased twenty percent," She said lightly. "I'm not quite up to par, I'll have to try again."

"Let him go!" The leading vampire shouted.

Angel was shoved violently forward. Any man alive would have triped and fallen at Cordelia's feet. Thankfully for Angel, he was dead. He stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself right in front of Cordelia. "Are you alright?" she wimpered, her brow wrinkeled with worry. Angel muttered and answer, but the gag in his mouth prohibited any real communication. "Oh," she said quickly as she grabed the gag and pulled it down off of his mouth. "Now, are you alright?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Angel wispered harshly.

"Saving you," she answered, annoyed that he had to ask the question. Then she turned back to the vampires with confidence. "I've got what I want, you can go."

"I don't think so," The lead vampire said, in a voice that was not as threatining as he wanted it to be. "I think you've got what you want, we can kill you."

Cordy's eyebrows shot up, "You think? 'Cause my freind isn't the one lying in a pile of dust."

"Bitch!" one of the other vampires yelled as he threw himself at Cordelia, in a second he was dust. Cordelia looked a little shocked, as did all the other people present. The 'slayer' hadn't moved, she had help.

It was a seven to three fight, they'd beat worse odds. But Angel was still tied up and Cordy couldn't run and it was imposible for Doyle to reload his crossbow as quickly as they came. Three more were dust before Cordelia was thrown roughly against the wall, all the air knocked out of her lungs. Her ears were ringing and the world was spinning but somehow she managed to yell "STOP!" And much to her surprise, it did. 

The lead vampire was frozen in his tracks. One vampire was holding the still bound Angel down while another one had a stake in the air, poised for the kill. Another vampire, the one with blond ratty hair, was holding Doyle. She was also poised for the kill.

"You lose slayer," the burned vampire said, but he didn't have the confidence to approach her.

"You think?" She gasped. "By my count three of your friends are dead while all of mine are alive and well."

"Wait a minute."

"NO," Cor screamed. "You don't want them, they're inconsequential and you know it." Her heart was beating so loud she could barely hear what she was saying. "You want the slayer. Let them go and that's exactly what you get."

"What are you saying?"

"They say once you go slayer, you never go back."

"Are you _offering_ yourself to me?"

"Sure," she gaspt, "But only if you let them go."

"Cordelia," Doyle choked out. The vampire's hand was placed solidly on his jugular, so choking was all he could do.

"Don't do this!" Angel said from his position on the ground. "Cordelia, you're not . . ."

"Come on!" Cordy screamed before Angel could let the secret out of the bag. "Once in a lifetime chance. All you have to do is let them go."

The lead vampire considered it for a moment, then he nodded. The blond vamp threw Doyle against one of the overpass' concrete pillars, where he collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. The two vampires on Angel grudgingly got off of him. 

"Help him up," Cordy ordered, "And untie him."

"He's free," The lead vampire said. 

"Help him up and untie him!" Cordy ordered. Her voice made bold from fear. "Until that happens, no slayer shake!"

"Fine," the vampire said grudgingly. He nodded to his two friends, who reluctantly helped Angel up.

"Untie him!" Cordy ordered.

"Cordelia, don't do this," Angel begged. "It's not worth it."

"Shut up Angel," she said quickly, before her friend could talk her out of it. She took a ragged breath as she watched the vampires free him.

"Done," the lead vampire said, taking a step towards her. 

"Ok," Cordy breathed. She tilted her head and brushed her hair away, revealing a smooth, white, neck. 

"Cordy no," Doyle gasped. She didn't even look at him. 

Cordelia folded her arms across her stomach, hugging herself nervously and closing her eyes. She felt the vampire come closer to her, and his not-quite-warm body press against her, and his breath on her neck as he laughed. "I wonder," he whispered into her ear, "What happens when you turn a slayer. You wanna live forever?"

Cordy didn't answer. She took a ragged breath and waited. She felt the vampire's tongue on her neck as he taunted her by licking the place he was about to bite and she couldn't wait anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and slipped the hair trigger on Angel's wrist stake that was concealed under her shirt's long, flowing sleeves. The vampire next to her gasped for a second, realizing that he had been lead to his death as a lamb to the slaughter, and then he was dust.

"I did it," Cordy said under her breath as she stared at the space the vampire once occupied. "I killed it."

Doyle and Angel were staring at the vacant space too, amazed. She had done it, and she had done it well. But the three of them didn't have much time to revel in Cordelia's victory.

The blond vampire ran over to Doyle, who was still on his hands and knees next to the cement pillar. The vampire that had been holding Angel ran over to Cordelia fully intending to break her neck while the vampire with the stake attacked Angel.

Cordy screamed at the charging vampire and held her hands in front of her. The vampire, propelled by inertia, couldn't stop himself. He was impaled and dusted. Cordy took another shaky breath and looked around. Angel had managed to get the stake out of the other vampire's hand, and it looked like only a mater of time before the street punk was a pile of dust. Doyle, however, wasn't faring so well.

Cordy ran over to him, the pain from her ankle the last thing on her mind. The vampire didn't even notice the girl's approach, she was too busy feeding on Doyle. Without thinking about it, Cordelia stabbed the vampire on the back with one of the stakes attached to her wrist. The vampire collapsed into dust as Doyle collapsed onto the ground.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "Doyle, are you alright?"

The half demon found his way to his hands and knees, he touched his neck, which was disturbingly numb and then turned his head to look at the blood on his finger.

"Doyle?" Cordy said, kneeling down so she was at his level.

The young Irishman turned his head to look at her, and much to Cordelia's surprise, he was smiling. "You did it," he said, laughing out of shear joy. He didn't seem amazed, as Cordelia was, he just looked proud.

Cordelia could start to feel herself get choked up, he was proud of her, she didn't want to care but she did. She knew that if she didn't say something quickly she'd start to cry. "What, you thought I wouldn't?" she said playfully. "I'm the _slayer_."

Doyle looked down, at the ground, and started laughing. Cordelia looked at him, kneeling on the ground, bleeding from his neck, and doubled over with laughter. She was tempted to ask him what was so funny, but suddently, she got it. "I'm the slayer," she gasped as she started to laugh herself. 

"Guys," Angel said as soon as he dusted the last vamp. He ran over to where they were crumpled on the ground. At first he thought the pair were somehow sobbing in pain, but as he approched he realised it was laughter. "Cordelia, Doyel," he said as he stood over them. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Doyle gasped between hysterics.

Angel pasued for a moment, not entierly convinced. "What's so funny?" 

"I'm the slayer," Cordy said as she wiped a tear from her eye.

Angel looked at them a moment longer, then he started to chuckle. Minutes later the overpass still rang with the trio's exhausted laughter.

  
  


Epilog:

"Eggs are done!" Angel said as he walked into his living room. Instead of the warm reception he expected he was met with total silence. "Guys?" He asked cautiously as he looked around. What he saw made him smile.

Cordelia was sitting on the coutch, leaning against the wall, fast asleep. Doyle was sprawled in the soft leather chair, eyes closed, mouth open, equally asleep. Angel laughed softly to himself as he turned back into the kitchen and put the skillet with the eggs back on the stove.

They were still asleep when he walked back into his living room. Cordy didn't wake up when Angel put her in a more comfortable position on his coutch, she only moaned softly. And neither of them seemed to notice as he draped them each with a blanket.

For the first time in his life, Angel felt very fatherly. He could remember pretending to fall asleep in front of the fire as a child. His father would pick him up and carry him to his room on the second level of the house and tuck him in. When he was a teenager, and then a man, and he hated his father and his overbearing presence, Angel's mother would try to soothe him by reminding him of those times. Still, never, in over 200 years of wild dreaming, did he imagine that he would know how his father felt durring those moments. Angel wasn't used to love, and he wasn't used to friendship. He didn't think he deserved them.

But these two people thought diffrently for some reason. They had no trouble being his friend, loving him, risking their lives for him. And all Angel wanted to do was protect them. He wanted them to be as safe as he had been in his father's arms, so very many years ago. He silently swore to himself that, no matter what happened, no matter what they fought, no matter how bad things got, in the future, he would never let anything happen to them. He would protct them with his life, die for them if he had too. And that was only the smallest way he could think of to express his grattitude, and return the love they had given him.

  
  


The End 


End file.
